


taciturn

by theowlinsomniac



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: F/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Crystal, Slow Build, no real smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:37:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2856134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theowlinsomniac/pseuds/theowlinsomniac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I killed those people.” she whispers, and Armin’s hands wrap firmly around her wrists, holding them out in front of him. He sighs, slowly bringing her hands to his chest and nodding.</p><p>“Yes. You did.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	taciturn

**Author's Note:**

> This particular story took over six months to write. I struggled with it for a really long time, deleting and rewriting and reworking it until I got the muse for it again. I probably abandoned it for three or four of those months before coming back to it yesterday and writing until it was done. This by no means, to me at least, is complete or polished yet, but since I’ve finally reached the “finished writing it” milestone I wanted to share what I had. I think this is one of those things that will never be finished, and I'm content with that. 
> 
> There’s a lot of plot missing to this, and it’s meant to be open ended, so if you want to know the end I can’t actually tell you anything concrete- after all, I myself am not completely satisfied with it.
> 
> It would be really rad if you guys could let me know what you think, or tell me what’s missing. 
> 
> I feel like I’m building this up when it’s really just a crappy, horrible, aruani au. I just want to explain I wrote this for me which was the best decision I ever made. 
> 
> But anyways: There were many post-crystal AUs and I decided to add my own (not) plausible one to the mix and I found it was the most fun to write! Most of this was written before Erwin even lost his arm so there are some details I need to correct, but other than that the AU is still… canonically correct? 
> 
> Thanks, and let's pretend it's my Christmas gift to the Aruani Fandom. Enjoy!

"a lover’s bite is gentle

 

but alas

 

her teeth were sharp”

 

 

She is marched like a soldier, a salute formed from fitted chains across her back and posture tall and proud. Her feet drag across the pavement and her paper skin is seared in the sun. The light brings pain and she winces at its eager touch. 

 

There is an aisle made of soldiers ahead, ex-comrades awaiting her. They line up on either side of the street. She bares her teeth, animal amongst men, chaos amongst order. She hears a snide remark from the Captain behind her. She doesn’t care. The former Female Titan walks between the brothers and sisters of the people she’s killed. 

 

Their eyes are full of hate. 

 

There are familiar faces, though. Bright green eyes and shaking hands. If she had the courage and strength to smirk in his direction, she would, but she doesn’t. Red scarf, black hair that is significantly shorter, and vulgar names on the breath of her parted lips. She hears someone call the woman ‘Captain Ackerman’. She somehow feels pride for the other girl. 

 

There are several sets of eyes missing, dead from the perilous missions, no doubt. It might have been her fault. She doesn’t feel as ashamed as she should. 

 

There is a pair she remembers all too well, though. The pools of blue fall on her and she expects the fury of the Betrayed to fall onto her with the flick of his eyelids. She stares at him as she walks. 

 

What’s that in his eyes?

 

Where hatred should be, there is pain.

 

He’s taller now, broader. His hair is long, his face and glasses resembling a certain scientist. She frowns. It dawns on her that this is the first time he has seen her since… 

 

She tries to find some sympathy, something in a memory telling her she felt something towards this weak child of war. 

 

But when her gaze is cast upon him, she can only remember apathy; and apathetic she is. 

 

There will be a trial held for her of course. The scientist says it’s only fair, but Annie knows that life amongst humans (or at least, the real humans) is not in the cards for her.

 

The morning before she is released from her chains, Annie shakes the clanking metal pieces off with a wide-eyed gaze. She half expects Hange to be waiting for her to shift. They aren’t. Annie stretches her arms, her muscles finally waking after being neglected for so long. Her eyes are full of fear of herself. She’s comforted by Hange’s softened eyes. 

 

There are tests to run, words to practice. Hange Zoe is the one to help her stand, change, and wash. Annie’s sharpness has left her body and the person behind the glasses is disappointed. A test subject who can no longer function independently isn’t any fun, and Annie can see this in the way they move. Hange’s rough hands bind her cold and tender chest and button a collared blouse around her. It’s been a long time since she’d been properly dressed like this. There is only silence. Annie thanks them without words, and she is taken into the courtroom, escorted by the scientist and the limping Corporal who joins them at the door. 

 

When looked upon by the jury of her enemies she fully understands her options only include solitude or death. Though Reiner and Bertholdt were allowed to live as prisoners, she knows her punishment goes far beyond what they received for their atrocities. While they were forced into their actions, forced to believe in a twisted goal, many of Annie’s choices were made on her own volition. 

 

She remembers that Bertholdt and Reiner started their journey as warriors when they were children. She wonders if she looks like a child now. 

 

It is hours before she is allowed to speak at the trial. It is hours of yelling and testimonies against her. She refuses to be torn down, though, and she rises to her feet to speak. They ask her what her intent was, who influenced her. She is silent and looks to her scientist caretaker. They stand and begin to ramble on, quoting nonsense from Annie’s mouth. Quotes that were persuaded from her over the span of several months underground. She tries not to cringe at the thought. Her knuckles burn as certain memories come to mind. 

 

They point out the blonde’s feeble and broken stature with an apologetic glance. Annie does not move. They are right. She’s nothing compared to who she once was. Her finger fidgets in her hands. They ask the prosecution to be slow and gentle when they question her. 

 

“Name?” 

 

Silence. Her tongue is dry. They ask again. 

 

“Name?” 

 

“Annie Leonhardt.” blink. fidget. swallow. 

 

“Do you know why you’re here today?” 

 

“I murdered hundreds of people. I kept my secret hidden.” 

 

“What was your secret?” 

 

“I was the Female Titan.” 

 

“Was?”

 

If she could have shifted then, she would have. Her eyes move to glare at the man before her. They all know the answer to that question. She sits on the stand for a long time. 

 

“What do you plead?” 

 

Her eyes close. She bites her lip. Her stomach churns and she can’t feel her fingers— no, they’re just tingling. Still here. There’s another painful memory of the swipe of a blade and she nearly cracks. She is afraid. 

 

Everyone knows she is guilty. 

 

It is days before a decision is reached. Hange is notified that they no longer require Annie’s presence in the court. Person after person files in to share evidence, to explain that they lost someone directly to the Female Titan. Annie finds it all foolish. 

 

They tell her that the court has made up it’s mind. She is slow when walking in after her overseers. She’s led into a small room. She winces. Small rooms meant needles and chains, but this one is fitted with a desk and a group of chairs. She is instructed to sit, and like the good little pet that she is, she does what she’s told. The judge comes in, obviously weary of her by the way he skirts around the opposite side of the room. The scientist and their shorter comrade follow in behind him. Then there are two familiar faces and the eyes that have only felt pain for so long are brightened. She moves to embrace them but a stiff hand on her shoulder brings her back down into the seat. The boys look to her with mixed expressions: disappointment and excitement. Her eyes do not leave theirs. 

 

It becomes apparent that everyone present knows more than she does. She becomes uncomfortable, skin crawling and heart roaring in her ears. Her finders tingle again and she hears the door close behind her. A blond head comes into view and very suddenly the infamous trio stands side to side in front of her. Blue eyes glance back and forth from her to the judge who now stands at the head of the room. Annie’s skin begins to burn. 

 

“The jury has found Annie Leonhardt guilty on the counts of…” 

 

She tunes out. She isn’t sure why she’s breathless. This is what she expected. Her eyes glaze over for a moment. 

 

“…the death penalty has been ruled out by the pleas and testimonies of Bertholdt Fubar and Reiner Braun, who, by trial, were allowed to keep their lives. Their example allowed for…” 

 

Annie’s heart quickened in pace. This meant she could live,  _survive_ — 

 

“…will be kept under government care until a more suitable consequence for her actions is found.” the judge closes his book with a look of discomfort and the beginnings of anger. “A meeting will be held immediately after the conclusion of this meeting to discuss the fate of Miss Leonhardt.” 

 

She sees a movement beside her, and someone steps forward, hands shaking as papers fall from his arms onto the desk. He looks unnerved but serious. Her stomach flips. 

 

“I’d like to make a request,” he starts nervously.. “I-I mean, I’ve written up the proper documents and legalities for the transfer of Ann— Miss Leonhardt from HQ to my home outside the walls.” her heart jumps to her throat and she edges forward on her seat. There’s fire in his friends’ eyes but they stand away from him, allowing him to go on. “If she agrees to the terms described in your list of requirements for her place of—” 

 

“I’ll look it over.” 

 

That’s all that the judge says on the matter. 

 

She’s escorted from the room without saying a proper goodbye to her boys, but she manages a cold glare towards her future housemate. The hurt in his eyes is too familiar and she feels it in the pit of her chest. 

 

The next day she is instructed to sign on four different lines. She does what she’s told without reading, but they try to explain it to her on the way. She doesn’t listen. The outside is much too captivating to pay attention to legal ramblings. She wonders what ever made her want to steal this from the humans in the first place.

 

The carriage shakes and rattles under them as they continue on. She realizes the outside world is now open for exploration, and smirks when she realizes how long it’s taking them to get to her new home. It would be fitting for him to live so far from the place he’d been trapped his whole life. 

 

She only hopes to have a bed and a change of clothes when she gets there. She smiles. Wasting away in warmth and light is better than wasting away in the cold and dark. 

 

Hange quickly bids her farewell, sounding almost disappointed, as she dismounts the carriage and is met at the door by her new caretaker. He looks at her with relief. She holds her breath as the horses go out of sight. Annie turns around and he’s already inside, so she takes this as a queue to let herself in. Her body gravitates towards one of the soft seats in his small living room and she digs herself a soft spot as she sits. She curls into a ball and closes her eyes. 

 

The house is small but much larger than the one she’d had as a child, a kitchen connected to a living room, a fireplace, a hall with two bedrooms and a study at the back. She’s told that her things are in the room to the right. She breathes in the heavy air and tries not to wonder why he’s had compassion for her. Her mind is not numb anymore, though, and he stares at her for so long she wants to ask what he really wants from her. 

 

_Is this about who’s good and who’s bad, Armin?_

 

_I suppose the only good one here is you._

 

He only asks her one thing. “Are you hungry?” When she doesn’t answer, he stops asking. She sits on his chair from dawn to dusk, takes two meals a day with him. They sit at opposite ends of the table. They are silent. She finds comfort in it somehow. He doesn’t ask anything of her, and her of him. The quiet gives her peace, the silence between them means understanding. 

 

He leaves her alone, but stays in the house. There are no visitors besides the occasional child asking for a book or for the answer to a health question. 

 

He must be a doctor, she thinks. 

 

He must hate her, she thinks. 

 

He disappears into his study and she arrives at the conclusion that she could run anytime she wants. One day she tries, but only makes it to the bottom of the hill. She sits and watches the waving grasses and the rolling hills, and at dark he sits with her. When he stands, she follows. Again, there are no words. 

 

She starts to think he knows her better than she does. She will never run from this, from her silent haven. 

 

She hums to herself before she sleeps that night. It is the first sound she’s mad here besides the screams from her nightmares. When she wakes, she can’t remember what happens, only the fear she felt in the dream. She knows she still has them once Armin’s eyes start to sag. Bruise-like crescents fall under his eyes and she feels something like guilt.

 

There is a night that she wakes to an open door. He stands at the threshold with shaking knees. Her throat is sore and her arms are covered in scratches, fingernails bloody. He doesn’t speak, he only creeps into the room and sits on the bed. She watches him with wide eyes, but allows him further into her realm. He holds her while she sleeps, and in the morning he is gone. 

 

It happens many times and eventually her nightmares stop. He continues to find himself in her bed. 

 

Annie isn’t completely cold, no. She thinks there should be a way to repay him. 

 

She watches him all day, and when he begins to peel vegetables for dinner, she stands and places a hand on his arm. He stops and she motions for the knife. He doesn’t hesitate to hand both the potato and the knife to her. She is surprised momentarily, as most wouldn’t be so willing to hand someone like her a weapon. She weighs it in her hand and avoids his heavy stare. She takes his place over the bucket and he watches her finish making the meal. 

 

His research must be important, she notes, since this is more food than she’s ever seen before at one time. 

 

They take turns, and she begins to notice things about him. He doesn’t like certain vegetables, certain spices, certain utensils. He doesn’t complain though. They share looks. She starts to make dinner and clean up every night, and he does the same in the mornings. 

 

They speak for the first time when she decides she needs to start training her body again. She requests a hanging sandbag and a pair of gloves as they eat together one night. He is caught off guard by her voice, but answers with a nod. 

 

“We’ll go out tomorrow. You need clothes and supplies anyways.” 

 

She sleeps alone without dreams, and the next morning she dresses in silence. When she steps into the kitchen she notes that he’s out of uniform. Tans, black, and whites are replaced by soft blue and grey. She stands behind him for a while, watching him reading some recipe book at the table. Annie thinks to herself that he’s always reading. She remembers him as a younger boy, reading books at every turn. Her mind snaps back to the present when he stands. His eyes graze over her and he gives a nod. Her hands shake momentarily but she steadies them and follows him silently out the door. The walk towards the village is strange, giving her a liberating feeling that only leaves her stomach churning. 

 

Once they enter the village, Armin’s pace slows and Annie feels him tense beside her. Although he smiles beside her, she wears her usual scowl that’s pointed towards those who pass by. She knows she’s being glared at and it crosses her mind that they’re breaking some kind of rule by being here. Armin’s hand moves towards hers and tugs at her fingers. The sudden touch causes her to recoil, hand reeling back and eyes narrowing. Her fist curls at her side, more scared than angry. His eyes are wide, apologetic, and he nods towards the nearest shop. Her hands start to shake when she hears whispers around her. She hears someone running. Her shaky hand shoots out and takes his, and she allows him to pull her inside. 

 

She sits just inside the door, his hand wrapped tight around hers. Her eyes are glued to the window, watching people run scared, pointing, yelling, whispering. They are afraid of her. She feels her heart pounding in her throat, top speed. Her arms tremble and she can’t control her own motions. His voice desperately tries to soothe her and she’s momentarily called back from her muted state. He coaxes her gently into reality and she starts to break again. There are people inside the shop looking at her with pity but she can hear them saying they won’t allow someone who should be dead to purchase anything from them. 

 

Someone who should be dead. 

 

She hears a child screaming and she shatters. Armin squeezes her hand, saying this was a mistake and leans forward. She begs him to take her back, take her home. She isn’t sure how loud her voice is but it’s obvious that the rest of the bystanders heard her and are confused but not sympathetic. Before she knows it there are arms wrapped around her, carrying her like a child, and she closes her eyes. Her arms encircle his neck as they slowly make their way out of the village. 

 

She can tell he’s breathless by the time he kicks his front door open and sets her down on the seat. She’s still murmuring things under her breath and her hands still shiver but she’s alright. She’s alive. Her arms are still locked around him and it takes a moment to get her to release him. It’s slow, but she eventually curls back into the chair, unable to look at him directly, shallow breaths escaping her. 

 

She hears him take a deep breath and let out a loud sigh. He moves behind her, fingers gently taking her hair from it’s messy bun and combing through the brittle tresses. She shivers when his fingers come much too close to the nape of her neck, but doesn’t let any noise ease from her. He runs his hands through her hair once more, pulling it back into her usual bun, and hesitantly places his hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t move. 

 

He leans over her, lips brushing her hairline. “I’ll be right back.” his breath is warm and soon his palms have lifted from her and he’s walking out the door again. The door is shut softly behind him, and the sun sets outside her window.

 

When he returns she’s moved. He sets numerous bags on the table and assumes she’s gone to bed, but notices something has changed. He scours the room and finds that one object is missing. His heart drops. There’s a knife missing from the drawer. 

 

He stumbles down the hallway and rips open her door. She drops the knife and it clanks against the hardwood floor. He immediately pulls her to her feet, looking her over and babbling on and on about the agreement she’d signed saying she wouldn’t harm herself or— 

 

There’s nothing wrong with her, so he looks to the knife. The blade is covered in white shavings, so he turns to the door. The first few layers of paint have been scratched off. It looks as if she’d written a word or two but quickly scratched those out as well. When he turns back to her her eyes are foggy and wide, lips quivering and jaw slack. 

 

“I killed those people.” she whispers, and Armin’s hands wrap firmly around her wrists, holding them out in front of him. He sighs, slowly bringing her hands to his chest and nodding.

 

“Yes. You did.” 

 

They stare at each other for a long time. Annie only notices that it’s gotten dark outside because he mentions it aloud. Fingers interlace and he takes her back into the kitchen, pulling out a change of clothing that looks like it might fit her and several bars of soap. He carries them all with one arm into the hallway, Annie dragging slowly behind. 

 

Long ago Annie’s friends showed her how to change from soldier to warrior, and in this moment she is neither. She is a lowly human who can barely look at another without bursting into tears. Somewhere inside her she still hears the child screaming. 

 

He opens the door to the bathroom with his knee and scoots inside, setting the things in his arm into the sink and leading her inside. He lets go of her hand and she stands in the middle of the room, aimless and unsure of what to do. Even here she looks foreign, but neither of them say any of this out loud. 

 

He leaves for a moment and returns with two towels. He asks her if she can do this herself. She shakes her head. 

 

He looks unfazed and places a hand on her forearm, tugging her around so she faces him. She closes her eyes and he begins to unbutton her shirt. She doesn’t flinch when it slides off of her or when his cold hands on her shoulders turn her around once again. He gently asks her to lift her arms so she does and he unties her bindings. She remembers they haven’t been changed for weeks but then she remembers why he’s even doing this for her and she’s not embarrassed. She’s just afraid. She’s just… 

 

He asks her to finish undressing by herself and she decides that task is the least she can do for him now. He kneels by the grey-ish white tub and spins the handles. He quietly explains that there have been several advancements that have allowed them to be able to heat water and transport it over long distances. He smiles as he watches the tub fill up. He says he’s been able to support his own heater, though, so the water would be warm. 

 

He stands and look at her. The only cover she now carries is the pile of clothes in her arms. She thinks to herself, numbly, that he’s seen a woman’s body before, but she also thinks that this is the first time he’s ever seen  _her_  body. 

 

She lets out a shaky sigh and he takes the clothes from her, face noticeably flushed, and takes her hand as she steps into the tub that’s now filled with warm water. She settles in nicely, humming as her body seeps all the way under. It reminds her of when her body was always warm like this, but those thought are soon replaced with screams and splotches of red. 

 

She closes her eyes tightly and lets her head fall back against the rim of the tub, hair spilling out against the side. He tells her he’ll be back, and she doesn’t make a sound. He silently exits and she sits and waits. He returns but only half inside the door, watching her for a second before trying to leave. She makes a noise of protest and he re-enters. 

 

“Stay.” she breathes, blue eyes wide. He nods and swallows, taking a seat at the far end of the bathroom and he watches her. She slowly cleans herself from head to toe, taking her time and washing each piece of her as slow and precise as she can. When she’s finished she submerges her head in the water, fingers massaging her scalp. When she resurfaces, he’s standing over her with a worried expression. She finds it almost amusing if it weren’t for the seriousness of the matter. 

 

She nods and stands, reaching for the towel as he helps her out of the tub. She covers herself and dries quietly, donning the new set of bindings and undergarments that Armin had somehow picked out in her exact size. She tries not to think about that as he helps her slip on a sweater and shorts. He asks her to stand still and he fixes her hair like he’d done earlier. She tells herself it doesn’t feel good, but the noise of satisfaction aching to slip from her lips tells a different tale. 

 

They somehow find their way back into her bed and he covers her in a mountain of blankets and holds her as if she were still dreaming. She stops shaking after a while and decides to speak. 

 

“Why did you bring me here?” 

 

He shifts, arms tightening just slightly around her waist, head buried between her shoulder blades. He takes in a deep breath and she feels it against her back. 

 

“I wanted to show you that you’re just as human as I am.” she doesn’t move. “I wanted to show you what mercy is and what life is like now that… now that we don’t have to worry about walls and titans…” 

 

She holds her breath as tears fall down her cheeks.

 

“At one time I thought I was able to call us friends. Things are different now but I thought that maybe one day… humanity could see that you’re a good person to me. Humanity can see that you have the potential to be a good person to… all of us.” 

 

She lets him cradle her through the night and dismisses him in the morning. She doesn’t come out of bed for three days, and when she finally returns there’s a sandbag hanging on the lowest branch of one of the trees outside, and a pair of gloves sitting on the table waiting for her. 

 

He helps her wrap her fists before sliding the gloves onto her hands, and watches her come back to life from the seat by the window. 

 

When sweat is pouring down her body and her bones are too sore to carry on she decides that being human isn’t as bad as it seems. Especially when one has Armin Arlert to set the example for them. 

 

She trains every day, practicing old moves she thought she’d forgotten. Sometimes she jokingly asks him to spar with her, but he politely declines, taking another sip of tea and going back inside to read. 

 

After dinner at night she follows him into his study and watches him reading maps and writing letters. They don’t speak to each other as she recovers from earlier in the day and he prepares research and writes papers to superior officers. Annie notices he wears his uniform less and less these days and his glasses more and more. 

 

One night, many months after her original arrival, he doesn’t go back to his study. He takes a seat in the middle of the floor and works on the fireplace, trying to get the fire going. It’s started to get cold outside, and Annie’s noticed it. She’s had to start wearing long sleeves and full length pants when going out to train. Her body structure and strength is back, and so is her voice. She and her housemate discuss things on and off. She asks him about what he’s studying and he asks her which moves she favors that day. 

 

They don’t talk much about the past but that’s okay with both of them. It’s better to let things be. 

 

She’s okay with just sitting beside him while the fire burns in front of them. Every few moments she’ll glance over at him, study his face, then turn back to the fire, all the while edging closer and closer to him until their bodies are brushing. 

 

“Why do you stay here?” he asks her, face turning to look directly at her. She raises her brows and frowns. 

 

“I have to.” 

 

He scoffs, an unfamiliar noise to her, and continues, “You could leave anytime you want. Overpower me and make a getaway.” he pulls his knees to his chest and she almost laughs. He looks just like he did when they first met. 

 

“Where would I go?” 

 

“I don’t know.” he shifts and closes his eyes. “Far, far away from here. Somewhere you could be safe.” 

 

She doesn’t respond right away. She inhales and leans against him, head resting against his shoulder as her eyes watch the crackling flames. 

 

“I feel the safest here with you.” She hears him inhale sharply, and before she knows it there are arms around her, holding her close. They don’t speak the rest of the night, and they fall asleep side by side. 

 

In the morning she wakes up with a pillow tucked under her cheek and a soft quilt laid over her body. She stretches her arms above her, realizing slowly that she’s in his bed. She wipes her eyes, clambers from the room with the quilt around her shoulders. The windows are slightly ajar, and the room is icier than she remembers. She finds him in his study, hunched over a book with a half-smile on his face, and he doesn’t register that she’s watching him before she’s already gone. 

 

He sits by the fire the next night too, and then the next, until the snow begins to fall and the motion of tucking herself under his arm and burying her face into his chest is routine. 

 

The room shifts so they have room to lie down, sometimes. Her feet always rest by his collar and his own at her head. She snickers at his jokes, tiredly, and he asks her why she fought for more than four hours today or what keeps her interest. She finds herself in bed in the morning, more often hers than his, but the fading warmth in the empty space beside her is immutable. 

 

There is a morning when she wakes up much too early, and he’s laying beside her. She doesn’t have nightmares anymore, not like she used to, so this image makes her feel uneasy. She lays on her side, sliding one hand to rest under her cheek and fingers to intertwine in long, flaxen hair, the other lifting carefully to brush his long hair from the top of his rhythmically moving chest. She watches him breathe, finger tracing circles in the warm fabric of his sleep shirt at the apex of his ribs down to the bottom of his abdomen. She shivers when he turns onto his side to face her, brows knitted and lips pursed as if he were having some sort of argument. She nearly smiles at this, tucks herself in closer, and falls back asleep. 

 

She wakes when he rises again, and watches him from behind as he changes out of his sleeping clothes and into his uniform. There’s a stone at the pit of her stomach when his shirt lifts to reveal scars on his wing bones, at the small of his back, and then more on his sides. She swallows as a faint trace of rippling muscles can be seen as he pulls down the white collared shirt and tucks it in. 

 

Eyes close as soon as he turns to her, and she holds her breath when she feels his lips on her brow. Several moments later she can hear him in the kitchen, scribbling down a note for her and sliding a book into her favorite chair. Horses whinny outside, and carriage wheels squeak distantly in her ears.

 

All becomes quiet, and it dawns on her that he’s left her alone. Her fingers curl into the sheets, pulling them tighter. Perhaps if she tries hard enough it’ll feel like the crystal, if she pulls them closer she can feel preserved, feel safe. Instead of running away she sleeps a few more hours, takes a bath, and starts and finishes the novel he’s left her (though it’s difficult to stay focused while reading fiction, something she hasn’t done in a very, very long time, and struggles with for several hours)

 

It’s a romance, quiet and conservative. The love is pure and honest. She lays by the fire and tears the corners of the pages that reminded her of him. 

 

When she wakes there’s an ache at her back and in the back of her head. It’s in the middle of night and there’s a deep roar inside her chest. Her hands are trembling, body fatigued but shaken. It’s her first nightmare in quite some time, and Armin is not here to comfort her. She puts out the fire, closes the windows, and tucks herself into his bed. It smells like him, a dull scent of ink and fresh grass, and she wipes her eyes on his pillow until the sensation of him climbing into bed to hold her wakes her once more before dawn comes. 

 

She blinks at him when the sun rises, and he continues to look at her with an indistinguishable look in his eyes. 

 

“You stayed.” he breathes against her neck, and she nods, body humming with alertness, burning in every place his skin is touching hers. “You…” 

 

“I liked the book.” she whispers, taking a hand and running it through his bangs. He smiles, and she does not. It’s hard to believe he’s so happy when the hands that hold him were the same ones to kill his comrades so long ago. 

 

They stay this way for a while, until at least noon. She asks him where he went. “To the new capital,” he says, “they requested some information on the study I’ve been doing the past few months.” she quirks a brow, but says nothing about this. He tells her who he got to see, who asked him about his research and his new home. 

 

“Did they ask about me?” she inquires once they’ve moved into the kitchen. He’s standing over the sink with an apple in his hand and a knife in the other. His brows furrow, lips shifting to frown. 

 

“Yes. Mikasa did.” Annie laughs at this, very quietly to herself. 

 

“What did you say?” 

 

He doesn’t answer quickly, like he did before. He takes a bite of the apple, she can hear it even though she’s faced away from him in her chair. “I told her… I said you were a good housemate.” The blonde woman bites her lip at this and nods. 

 

She gets up, trains for several hours, and comes back in to bathe. She’s wiping her face with a towel when she catches him. He stands in the doorway to his study, watching her there just outside the bathroom. His eyes are unfocused, arms crossed and legs bent slightly. She stares at him until he realizes and moves back inside his study with a expression made more of surprise than embarrassment. Her face feels heated when she dips herself into the cool water, and she takes her time in washing her hair and her face. 

 

When she returns, he’s sitting on the small couch, facing the fireplace. His eyes are distant, but there’s a smile on his lips. She moves slowly, tucking her hair behind her ear before sliding into the spot next to him and closing her eyes. It’s the middle of winter, she supposes, and the fire feels better than she imagined it would. 

 

“Annie…” he says. Her eyes open to watch him, but he does not continue. He doesn’t look at her. 

 

“Was I one of your studies?” she asks, voice shaking them both to the core. He doesn’t spare a glance at her, even then. 

 

“In the beginning yes. I made reports every couple of weeks as to your progress. I always… I told them you were fit for re-entry into society, that you should be allowed to…” he slows and stops, and her heart hammers in her chest. She feels betrayed, almost, but she can’t blame him. 

 

“And now?” she asks. 

 

“You can stay here.” he breathes this with a brand of hope in his voice, “They say you can stay here with me.” she doesn’t need to know the rest, the details of her checkups she’s sure they’ve made him agree to or if she’s allowed outside the house or why he wants her here. She doesn’t need it. 

 

She stands, swings one leg over him and sits on his lap, aware that this is the closest they’ve been in a while. Her chest is merely a finger’s width away from his, her nose only a touch farther than that. His hands land in his lap, fists sitting on her hips, not sure where to go. 

 

“What am I,” he looks startled, her fingers finding grip in the fabric around his shoulders, “to you?” Her voice and face are stoic, expressionless. There’s a look of relief on his face, but he remains tense under her touch. Their eyes remain steady, gazes level to each other’s eyes. 

 

“What am I to you?” he asks her, voice accusing. She doesn’t know how to take it. “What am I to you?” he repeats it as if she didn’t hear him the first time, but she answers slowly regardless of the look on his face that tells her if she doesn’t hurry he’ll ask again. 

 

She slides closer, breathe quivering as their noses brush and their eyes close. Their lips do not meet in the middle, though, but they breathe in this proximity for longer than she thinks she can take. 

 

“Armin,” she says his name against his expecting mouth and he nods like he knows she won’t kiss him tonight, might not ever kiss him, “you’re…” there’s a list of things she could say, a list of things she read that she could regurgitate, things she could remember older people saying when she was a child. None of those words fill her mind though, in the moment, and instead of speaking she exhales and buries her face in the crook of his neck until he slides his hands under her thighs and carries her to bed. 

 

The house is silent. They wake up entangled, too close to be embarrassed, and he nods. He knows what she wanted to say, even if she doesn’t. He gets up, works in the study for as long as she trains outside. She prepares lunch and then dinner, and bathes before returning to the main room once it’s dark. She stands in the doorway, watching him sit in the same manner that he did the night before, only this time his eyes are different. Brighter. 

 

She moves across the room quietly, in a way that startles him when she slides onto his lap like she had the night before. She’s determined now, her heart feeling as if it might explode. What did it mean if her fingers were numb and her mind was buzzing? What did it mean if the way their eyes met made her fill up with warmth? 

 

“You’re more to me than you think.” is all he has to say before she dips her head and kisses him. It’s a little rough, a little hard, but his hands are digging into her hips while hers comb through his hair, and the warmth his body brings to hers is making her chest swell. She likes it, the way his lips fit to hers, the way he draws back so he can look at her and then coax her forward for more. The house is quiet, quieter than it ever has been, but the sound of their intermingling breaths and their forceful kisses reverberate enough to make her spine feel charged. 

 

Her lips open slightly, and he takes this as an invitation to open his as well, press his tongue to hers, learn and seek out the way her body moves against his. She thinks she could get used to the taste of his mouth, and knows for certain she wants more than just this moment, more than their lips meeting between them in the dark of night. 

 

She shivers against the cold tips of his cold fingers. They creep under the hem of her shirt, touching her warm skin. Her hands shake nervously on his shoulders until they break apart for just a moment. He looks uneasy, unsure, until she nods, her hands moving down to encourage his, pushing them farther up against her ribs. They pause, catching their breath, and for the first time in years she feels… nervous. 

 

“Have you done this before?” she whispers. Her shirt begins to creep farther and farther upwards. He looks her in the eyes, lips shadowing a smile of amusement 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Her breath slips away, “Was she beautiful?” Armin is not the type to lie, not to her, not anymore. He’s gentle, pulling her shirt up and over her head as her arms raise to help him slide it off. It falls to the ground with a soft rush of air. 

 

“Yes.” 

 

Her fingers tangle in the hair at the back of his head, his hands on the small of her back. She edges closer, heated breath mixing with his in the space between them. 

 

“Did you love her?”

 

He holds her, fingers working at her bindings, eyes caught between lips and eyes. She thinks it’s silly that she’s stripping first, that she’ll soon be the vulnerable one between the two of them. When they were soldiers— when they were children, it was just the opposite. His hand finds the back of her neck as her bindings fall loosely around her, and then to the floor. She bites her lower lip, chills running over her spine from the cold air against her skin, chills from the way he looks at her like he wants her. 

 

“Yes.” his answer is faint. Their lashes brush and her body aches for him. 

 

“Do you love me?” 

 

His hand brings her closer and their lips meet in between the dark spaces of their hearts. 

 

She hears a ‘yes’ somewhere after but she convinces herself that it’s only her imagination. 

 

She’s awkward, clumsy. She hasn’t kisses a soul since she was younger and she’s certainly never done this. He doesn’t laugh, but he smiles. It’s a slow descent, warm even. Somehow they find their way into a bed, heated limbs tangling and hearts beating faster and faster until they could burst. 

 

They make love in his bed and she calls out his name as if it was the last thing she’d ever say. 

 

They go back to silence the day after, and she sleeps alone in her bed once she realizes that she’s in love. 

 

She doesn’t train for several days, giving it up to watch him at his desk nearly pulling out his own hair from some sort of experiment failure, and thinking to herself that she should offer to cut it for him. He prepares dinner for them on a day when the weather is warmer than she’d like and she watches him from the table, standing after a moment of deliberation and nudging him with her arm to make him face her. She runs her hands up to the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to her eye level and he smiles, setting down whatever was in his hands, which was now unimportant, and placing his hands on her shoulder blades. 

 

“Can I…” the question goes unfinished because their lips crash between them and dinner is forgotten until the morning when she stumbles into a messy kitchen and nearly trips over a fallen, now inedible, vegetable. 

 

She moves all of her things into his room, finding it much more manageable, and soon finds it odd that only months ago she wasn’t pressing her lips to his forehead every day or ripping buttons off in order to tear away his uniform too quickly. 

 

She lays on top of his chest in the late afternoon in early spring, tracing letters on his chest with her index finger. He’s cut his hair, sparred her several times, completed his biggest assignment. She breathes in and out slowly, in time with him, and talks to him with her hand. 

 

She draws, “everything” slowly, but he’s too tired to register the answer to his far-off question. 

 

“Thank you.” she whispers to him as he drifts in and out of sleep. He grunts. 

 

“It started before you lied to me…” he breathes, and she thinks he must be dreaming, “I loved you even when… you were so far away.” she nods and wraps herself around him so tightly she can barely breathe. 

 

“Are you happy here?” she asks, “With me?” he nods softly against her. 

 

“Are you?” he says, voice thick with fatigue. She doesn’t respond until long after he’s fallen asleep. 

 

“Yes.” she closes her eyes and allows herself to cry. “Yes I am.” 

 

It isn’t until some months later that he finds her note tucked in the bed frame and an empty drawer where her clothes should be. 

 

“I’m sorry.” is all it says, and he thinks she was always a better liar than he thought she was. 

 

 


End file.
